Hell's Fire
by Meghan Page
Summary: It's been almost three months, but Cordelia hasn't given up on Misty yet. Now, it's time to get her back.


The past few months had been a busy, hectic mess. Cordelia had come up with the idea to go public with the existence of her coven just after her mother's death, when the full power of the Supreme had flowed into her and filled her with a great sense of purpose. She had to replenish the line of witches, to stop the endless death that had surrounded this coven since Fiona took power. It started with preparing her statement, then fielding interviews from what seemed like every news station in the country, then sorting through the hundreds of applications that poured in, trying to find spaces for all of the girls, opening new houses across New Orleans.

Through all of the planning and organizing and general hubbub, she hadn't had a moment to herself in almost three months. But that hadn't stopped Cordelia from thinking of her every day. The beautiful witch who had emerged from the swamp and into her coven; the pure soul so full of compassion for all living things great and small. Misty Day.

Cordelia worried about her constantly, trapped down there in her custom-fitted Hell. She felt her own failure to save Misty like an open wound, a knife twisting in her heart. So every free second she had, she returned to the library, scouring books for a solution. And she thought she found one.

The first chance she could find, she told Zoe and Queenie that she was taking the next few days off, and to make sure no one disturbed her while she was in the greenhouse, that she had important work to do. The glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, but agreed to leave her alone and make sure the other girls did the same.

That night Cordelia tossed and turned, going over and over her plan and wondering if it could ever possibly work. But she had to try. She had to get Misty back from Hell.

She rose the next morning before the sun, tiptoeing through the hallways down to her greenhouse. It was still the room she felt the most comfortable in, surrounded by her familiar plants and vials and potions. Cordelia found that she still wasn't entirely at ease in the glamorous world of plenty offered to the Supreme. That was fine with her though, for if she ever did become comfortable with that luxury, she was afraid she would become like Fiona – something the coven, and the world, did not need anytime soon.

Puttering around her well-worn space, Cordelia began pulling down ingredients, preparing the different elements of her ceremony. First, the beeswax candles, in several colors depending on their properties. Two white, for meditation and astral travel. One black, for deep meditation and banishing evil. One green, for rejuvenation. And one red, for life.

Next, she needed to grind the powder she would use for her circle of protection. She chose several ingredients in order to make it as powerful as possible. In her mortar bowl she added bay laurel leaves, for communication with the dead, lily flowers, for resurrection, and yew bark, for protection. Taking her pestle, she ground them into a fine powder. After transferring the powder into a jar, she repeated the process several more times, to ensure she had enough to make a circle of the size she wanted.

After a break to rest her sore arm, she collected the ingredients to make a smudge stick. Gathering a bundle of dried leaves from a lotus flower, which aids souls who seek reincarnation, she bound them with basil leaves, for love and protection.

Finally, Cordelia put water on her little stove to boil. Plucking the leaves from several sprigs of chervil, she dropped them into her teapot, then poured in the steaming water and set it aside to steep. The tea would aid her in communing with the dead.

As she waited for the tea to strengthen, she began setting up the elements of her ceremony. First she drew a circle on the floor with the powder she had ground, a little bigger around than she was tall, carefully pouring the contents of the jar in an even, thick line. Then she set the jar aside and gathered up the candles. Orienting herself to the north, she placed the red and green candles just outside the circle, about a half-foot apart. Facing east, she put down one white candle, then turned and placed the other just opposite. Finally, looking south, she set down the black candle, making sure it was resting at exactly on the southern point.

The protection circle finished, Cordelia lit the smudge stick, placing it in a shallow clay bowl. Leaving it on the worktable so the smoke could drift down over the circle, she lit the candles one by one, starting with the green and circling around to the red. She paused a moment to pour herself a cup of tea and survey her work. Anxious to get started, she drank quickly, downing the cup in a couple of swallows. The sun was already setting, and she wanted as much time as possible to accomplish her task.

She crossed the room to where a small shelf had been installed. On the shelf sat a small gold urn engraved with twisting vines. Zoe had picked it out, saying that Misty would like the pattern of life etched onto its surface. Cordelia had nodded and purchased it, but to her the vines rang false. There would never be any life connected with its cold metal surface, no matter what was carved into it.

Around the bottom of the urn was wrapped a shawl, one of Misty's favorites. Cordelia had picked it from Misty's belongings when she was packing them up. She hadn't let any of the other girls touch them, and refused to let them be thrown out. They were upstairs at that moment, in a trunk under Cordelia's bed.

Cordelia took both items off the shelf, lifting them tenderly and holding them against her chest. She turned back to her circle and, taking a steadying breath, stepped inside it. She set the urn down gently at the north point of the circle, just inside it and between the red and green candles, and removed its lid. Keeping the shawl clutched to her chest, she then laid down on her back, her head almost touching the urn and her feet pointing towards the black candle.

Closing her eyes, she brought the shawl up to her nose and inhaled its scent. It still smelled faintly of Misty, that earthy, organic, sweet smell that was unique to the swamp witch. Then, clasping it over her heart, she began the Decensum chant.

"_Spiritu duche en me es_…" she intoned, the words flowing from her mouth with almost no thought. But when she reached the end of the chant, rather than stopping, she added another line. "_Adducite ad me_." _Bring me to her._

With a gasp, Cordelia found herself looking down at her own body. She hovered for a moment, then began to fall.

Through pitch darkness she fell, for what seemed like a millisecond and an eternity at once, before emerging with a lurch into a dull gray room. She looked around, taking in the chalkboards and rows of children, _a classroom_, before a guttural cry split the silence, cutting straight to her core. She spun around to find Misty seated at one of the tables, tears streaming down her face as she held shaking hands over the tray in front of her. As she drew her hands away, Cordelia heard a faint croaking.

_A frog?_ She looked around, noticing every child had a tray with a dead frog splayed out in front of them. _Dissections_, she realized. _Oh, Misty…_

"Freak!" one child exclaimed, making Cordelia jump. "You're a freak! Mr. Cringley, she did it again!"

A man stalked over from across the room, coming to stand beside Misty. "Where's the dissection frog?" he demanded.

"It's right there, she brought it back to life," the boy insisted.

"Shut up, Bobby," the teacher snapped. "She snuck a live one in to trick you. But trick's on her. Now pick up the scalpel."

Cordelia's heart constricted as Misty's face contorted in distress. "No, please don't make me," she begged.

"If you won't dissect a dead frog," the teacher said, slapping the scalpel into Misty's palm and closing his own hands around hers, "then you will dissect a live one."

"No, I don't want to kill a living thing, please, you can't make me," Misty sobbed, her voice breaking.

"You'll kill it or I'll have a talk with your parents," the man growled, forcing Misty's hand towards the frog.

Unable to take anymore, Cordelia strode up to the man, grabbing his shoulder and wrenching him away from Misty. "You stay away from her!"

"What the –" the teacher stuttered. "Who are you?"

"Miss Cordelia?" Misty whispered with a sniffle.

Cordelia turned to her with a smile. "Hello, Misty. I've come back for you."

Suddenly, the scene froze. The air turned cold and the light became a sinister red.

"Well, well, well," came a voice from behind her. She whirled to find a tall, lanky man standing there, his eyes glowing scarlet and his face painted like a crumbling skull. "What a surprise."

"Papa Legba," Cordelia murmured in shock. "I heard Queenie talking about you."

"And I've heard abou' you, Miss Delia," Papa Legba replied. "What an honor ta meet the new Supreme." His tone oozed mockery, making Cordelia flush.

"I've come to take Misty home," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady and strong.

"Oh, have ya now?" Papa Legba grinned. "An' just how do ya plan ta do dat?"

"You're going to give her to me."

The voodoo god chuckled. "Now, you got some spunk, girl, I'll give ya dat. But ya gotta know Papa Legba don' give nuthin away for free. What'cha give me in return?"

"Anything," Cordelia said simply.

"Anything?" Papa Legba seemed to consider it. "How about… yo' immortal soul?"

Cordelia put her hands on her hips. It would be worth it to get Misty back. "I said anything."

Now Papa Legba let out a real laugh. "Alright, girl, you got yoself a deal."

He reached out his hand, but not for a handshake. Instead, he reached towards Cordelia's chest. She could feel something coalescing in the center there, like a ball of energy. It felt warm.

Hot, actually. As Papa Legba reached for her, she could see she felt its heat, too. His hand stopped a few inches from her chest, as if unable to go farther, and he drew it back, hissing in pain. Cordelia could see the skin there had blistered as if burned.

"Shit, girl," he panted. "I don' want dat. Deal's off. You got some fire in ya soul dat I ain't touchin'. Now git out."

"No, you can't do that. You can't just back out of our deal!" Cordelia cried, near panic.

"I can an' I will." Papa Legba replied, shielding his eyes with his uninjured hand.

"No!" Cordelia demanded, steeling her resolve. "You will honor our agreement, or I will stay here forever just to torment you with my fire."

She took a step forward, feeling the heat in her chest growing with her anger. Papa Legba threw his other hand up with a hiss.

"Alrigh', alrigh'!" he yelled. "Fine! Jus' get the hell out!"

He snapped his fingers, and the room jumped back to life. Cordelia and Misty's eyes met for a split second before Cordelia felt herself dragged back and up.

_Misty!_ she tried to yell, throwing out her hand, but it was too late. The room had already been replaced by rushing darkness.

A second, or maybe forever, later, Cordelia jerked upright, back in her own body. She searched the room desperately for any sign of Misty, but the only things that had changed were the candles had burned down almost to the quick, and the urn was on its side, its contents spilled onto the floor.

"Misty?" she whispered, reaching a shaking hand towards the scattered ashes. "Oh, Misty…" She drew her hand back at the last second, unable to touch the only remains of the woman she loved.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, and began to weep, clutching the shawl still in her hand to her heart.

"What for?" a familiar Southern twang said from over her shoulder. With a gasp she twisted around just in time to see Misty emerge from behind her worktable.

"Misty!" she choked out, scrambling to her feet, letting the shawl drop. The woman came to stand beside her, only a few feet away. "Is it… is it really you? You're really here?"

She reached out, but stopped just before she touched the other witch. Her hand hovered over Misty's shoulder, afraid that if she closed that last inch the woman would disintegrate back into dust.

"Well, I seem to be," Misty replied with a smile. "Here. Feel."

She took a tiny step forward, closing the space between Cordelia's hand and her shoulder. Cordelia gasped, her eyes fluttering shut at the solid feeling of Misty's shoulder beneath her fingers.

"You were there. In Hell. You saved me."

Cordelia could feel Misty's breath ghosting across her forehead. She tilted her head back, drinking in the sound of Misty's voice, her unique scent, and slowly opened her eyes.

Brown eyes met blue, and Misty let out a little gasp. "Miss Cordelia, your eyes!"

"What, did something happen to them again?" Cordelia's hands flew up to her face, feeling around her eyes for scars.

"Well, I'm not sure if they've been like that for long, but they're all healed. And the same color. They're…"

"Oh, yes, they healed when I became the Supreme." Suddenly, Cordelia became insecure. "Did you like them better when they were different colors? They were probably much more interesting –"

Her words were cut off when Misty laid her finger on Cordelia's lips. "I was gonna say they're beautiful. You're beautiful." Misty slid her hand from Cordelia's lips to cup her cheek. "And you saved me." She slowly leaned in, her eyes still trained on Cordelia's, and Cordelia's heart started to pound. "Thank you."

Misty closed the small space between them in one swift movement, and suddenly they were kissing. Misty's lips tasted like nothing Cordelia had ever experienced before, like spices and earth and magic. She moaned into Misty's mouth and deepened the kiss, pulling the other woman closer, pressing their bodies together.

Misty kissed her back just as passionately, twining one hand in Cordelia's silky hair and using the other to hold their bodies together. Abruptly, though, she pulled away. Cordelia immediately felt the loss.

"Hold on just a sec'. Did you say Supreme?" Misty asked.

Cordelia just nodded.

"Oh, Lord." Misty bit her lip, turning her face away. "I'm bein' terribly forward, ain't I, goin' and kissin' the Supreme."

Cordelia could see a blush heating Misty's cheeks, and found it completely endearing. She couldn't believe Misty was worried about decorum right then, after she had just gotten out of Hell.

"It's not forward at all," she said, tucking a wayward curl behind Misty's ear and running her fingers along her jaw. "Not if I want it."

Misty turned back to face her, her eyes alight with hope.

"And of course I do. I love you." Cordelia's heart thrilled at finally saying it out loud, at having Misty there to say it to.

"Miss Cordelia…" Misty whispered.

"Please, Misty, just Cordelia or Delia."

"Delia, then," Misty corrected herself with a grin, taking Cordelia's hand and lacing their fingers together. "I love you, too."

A wide smile crossed Cordelia's face. She tugged on Misty's hand, pulling her down until their lips meet in a sweet, lazy kiss.

As they parted, Cordelia remembered the shawl lying on the floor where she had dropped it in shock. "I have something for you," she told Misty, leaning down and snatching it off the floor.

Misty gasped happily, taking the shawl and slinging it around her shoulders, immediately spinning into a twirl. "My shawl! You kept it?"

"Of course I did. I kept all your things," Cordelia admitted. "They're all upstairs. Do you want to go up now? There's so much I have to get you caught up on…"

Misty caught Cordelia's other hand, preventing her from turning towards the door. "Forget all of that stuff for now. Just stay with me."

"I will," Cordelia promised. "Forever."

* * *

Disclaimer: I only have an extremely rudimentary knowledge about Wicca and witchcraft. I did some research on the plants and candles and the powers connected with them, but I honestly don't really know what would happen if you combine them like I wrote. Please, don't mess around with this stuff in real life unless you know what you're doing.


End file.
